Then Came the Last Days of May
by mytimeofdying
Summary: Stuck in a unfamiliar town, taking care of an injured Dean, Sam begins to encounter a woman in his dreams who prays for his brother. Dean begins to heal. But, when his dreams are suddenly empty, Dean's health deteriorates, and Sam knows he must find her.


_She was kneeling, her knees twisted under her. She bent slightly in the middle, her upper half leaning forward, her cheek resting in her left palm. The other hand was pressed firmly on her knee, her nails digging into her exposed flesh. She was rocking back and forth, her hair moving across her face to reveal her features, and then coming back to hide her again. Through the fiery strands, Sam saw her mouth moving swiftly. Her eyes were closed, and they were fluttering at the folds, showing that her mind was racing to keep up._

_Behind her, another woman stood with her arms folded across her abdomen. She looked straight ahead, her eyes peircing not into Sam, but through him, like she couldn't even see him there. She slowly unfolded her arms and firmly clamped her hands over her eyes._

_The kneeling woman flung her head back, her face towards the ceiling. From deep inside her throat, an amber glow formed, erupting slowly from her partially opened mouth. The light turned smoldering in an instant, forcing Sam to flinch backwards, bringing his hands over his eyes. _

_The wider this kneeling woman opened her mouth, the brighter the light burned. Sam was so distracted by the blinding light that he hardly noticed the words that were pouring out along with the radiance. It was a prayer; a beautifully organized prayer that captivated Sam instantly, his eyes suddenly adjusting to the burning glow that filled the room._

_This woman was praying for his brother._

Sams eyes jerked open, and he was momentarily confused by the darkness until his vision adjusted with the help of the lamp on the other side of the small motel room. Shifting in the lumpy chair, his muscles stiff, Sam awkwardly peered around the room trying not to see the outline of his brother, who was laying motionless on the bed. But, he failed, and for the millionth time that day, Sam focused his gaze gingerly on his brother.

The lamp that was on the small table beside the bed cast a yellow glow around his slumping body, putting an emphasis on the vibrant red gashes that started just below his jaw. Following them with his eyes, Sam scanned frantically down his brothers bare torso until the wounds were blurred by the fabric of the off-white sheet Sam had pulled up to his brothers waist. The stitches he had made the night before stuck out black against Dean's pale, but irritated skin.

Sam blinked tightly, his eyes focusing when he opened them on the little gold medalion that he had given Dean as a gift all those Christmas's ago. It was out of pure luck and devotion that Dean kept up with it, checking every once in a while to make sure it was still there.

Everytime Sam caught him fingering it, staring off in space, Sam wondered to himself if all siblings were this close, or if the things they'd seen and done made their bond this intense. They were more then just brothers. They owned eachother.

Trying not to focus on Deans injuries yet again, Sam looked suddenly out the small window through dingy curtains. Sam felt weird, sort of stranded. Dean had been sleeping nearly constantly for the past two days. Without his mumbling, and cursing, and AC/DC being sung under beer-tainted breath, the room that the siblings shared felt empty and Sam felt the same way.

Dean had been hurt before, obviously, but they both usually managed to end a hunt without anything serious. But, this time, Dean was hurt. Boy, was Dean hurt. His skin torn and his muslces ripped, unable to move or hardly speak. His voice was raspy, his breathing staggered and loud. Sam could hear it, the sound of his brothers struggling, and it got louder and louder the more Sam listened to it. He tried not to, but he knew he had to. Had to be there, not **if**, but **when **Dean needed him.

Reaching for the bottle of water that he had been sipping from, Sam stood and walked over to the bed Dean was in.

He stared down at his brother, feeling suddenly very young and unprotected. The pain and soreness of his latest injuries were all too obvious on his unshaven face, and that worried Sam for reasons he knew he would never be able to explain. Only Dean could make Sam feel like this. One small glance at Dean in this weakened state sent agonizing jolts of electricty through Sams entire body, reminding him just how dependent he was on his brother. He'd lost him, what, twice now? Everytime the pain, the loss, the total lack of respect for life, got worse. Intinsifying to the point that Sam's heart literally skipped a beat, fluttering uncomfortably inside his chest to regain normalcy, at the thought of ever having to suffer through that again. So, responsible for the man that was responsible for him, Sam met Dean's unconcious but uncomfortable facial expressions with his own, feeling and taking in all the physical torment, because he knew without any doubt that Dean would do the same for him.

Sam tugged at the sheet, pulling it higher up on his brother, who twitched just a little under the movement. Twisting the cap off the water, Sam slid one of his hands under Dean's head and pushed it forward. Dean's eyes fluttered. Sam poured a small sip of water into his brothers mouth, quickly turning awkwardly to set the bottle down on the night stand and returning to lightly rub his brothers throat, to encourage swallowing. Dean let out a grateful grunt, a thank you that was translated into a simple noise.

Laying Deans head back down on the bed precariously, he pulled the sheet up once again, nervously wanting to help the only ways he could. "Try not to move too much," Sam warmed, knowing good and well that Dean was too weak to move at all. "I don't want you to pull your stitches," Sam trailed off, turning his body around and crawling into his own bed, too tired to bother with turning off the lamp that was still shining.

He stared at the light, it growing brighter and then duller as his eyes sagged and then widened again. The gleam suddenly reminded Sam of the dream he had been jerked from. Unsure if he should take anything from it, Sam rolled over, took a last look at Dean and closed his eyes, the bright hair of the praying woman dancing behind his heavy lids.


End file.
